Dancing On Fire
by JStone95
Summary: AU. Rachel's make-over went deeper than just a change of looks. Faberry, Julyberry. Oneshot.


**Pairing: **Faberry, Julyberry

**Summary: **AU. Rachel's make-over went deeper than just a change of looks. Oneshot.

**Note: **It's darker and different from what I usually write. I just wanted some Faberry with Julyberry twist in it, and I wanted it to be written in second POV. Here's some Angst/Hurt/Comfort, be warned. And yes, I've been listening to Marina & the Diamonds lately.

* * *

_The ugly years of being a fool_

_Ain't youth meant to be beautiful_

High school wasn't easy for you. High school wasn't easy for a lot of people, but especially not for you. You had it rougher than most kids and when some people ask you about your favorite high school memory, you tell them about the moment you turned your back on McKinley High and never looked back. Your only purpose of going there was getting a piece of paper that allowed you to enroll into NYADA, where you are now.

You thought it would be different here, you thought you would be more accepted here. You held a lot of expectations for this place, you saw it as a chance to be free and start anew. But you started college the same way you started high school: from the bottom.

For a long time, you thought there was something wrong about you. Maybe you were destined to stay at the bottom of the social pyramid for the rest of your life. Maybe your ambitions to take over Broadway blinded you and kept you from what was really important life: social status. Because status was everything, status could save you when you had no talent, but talent couldn't save you when you had no status.

Around the end of the first term, something inside of you just snapped. It was a gradual transition that you failed to acknowledge, and now when you look back, you can't pinpoint the exact moment it started.

You just suddenly felt like putting more make-up on your eyes. What you used to only do for special occasions, you started doing more frequently until you wouldn't leave the house without always looking ready for a professional photoshoot.

You just suddenly felt like wearing tighter and sexier clothes, more revealing and more teasing. What you used to only wear for special occasions has become your daily fashion until you wouldn't leave the house without looking like you're ready for the runway.

You just suddenly felt different. But not the way your outer appearance suggested. While your body and your face has never looked better before, you heart started welking like a fragile rose that has been left unattended for too long. It crumbled and deflated into nothingness, leaving only numbness and emptiness inside you.

You were hurt, you were lied to, you were used, but you've never heard a sincere apology. They derided your optimism, they tainted your innocence and they took away your faith in everything good. All that's left is what you are now. Someone your younger self would not recognize if she looked into a mirror.

You don't remember what genuine happiness feels like. You are content enough if you can feel the absence of misery. And the only way to achieve that is to detach yourself from everything that used to evoke emotions in you.

This is where the most tumultuous chapter of your life starts.

* * *

_Don't do love, don't do friends_

_I'm only after success_

Your empty eyes follow her smooth dance moves. You know she is dancing for you, pretending to teach you, but you both know that she's stopped being your teacher the first time she buried her possessive hands in your hair and pulled you in for a rough kiss.

This dance between you and her is dangerous, rough and loveless. It has no future, it has no past, it lives in the present and you do it for the thrill. Because the only times you feel akin to being alive is when she shoves you against the door after the last student has left and she treats you the same way she does in class. Merciless, rough, almost abusive. But never too much to bear.

And you like it. You never thought that you would end up in a mental state where only sex could bring you back to life and fill your emptiness. Even if only for a few hours. But you gladly take what you're given.

And what she can give is enough for you to go through a whole day with your head clear until your brain gets numb again and starts to crave more. You can't get enough, neither can she.

You used to be afraid of her, not knowing what she wanted. She was unpredictable. She still is, but the difference is that you don't care anymore. You don't care what she gets out of this arrangement, you let it be undefined because it's better for the both of you to not speak about it. You rarely speak anyway when the two of you are alone.

You don't care if she uses you because you are using her as well. You don't care if she gets a sick sexual gratification from this, because you do, too. You used to care, too much actually about everything, but you can't find the strength to do so anymore. You used to be vulnerable, weak, prone to getting your heart broken. And she would be the type of woman to break your heart.

_I'm only happy when I'm on the run_

_I break a million hearts just for fun_

But the most damage she can do now is only to herself by refusing you sexual favors. You can have anyone you want with one suggestive wink, you don't depend on her. You just like to choose her because she does her job well and you like routine.

So when the lesson ends, the students are gone and the door is locked, you know exactly what you're getting yourself into.

_In the night your heart is full_

_And by the morning empty_

* * *

Her mouth is moving but you are not listening. It is sheer irony, because you used to be the one talking too much with no one listening. But as one of your former high school bullies, now somewhat friend, speaks to you in a concerned tone, you can only focus on her mouth. You wonder if you could get this mouth to do more things than just talking.

But she doesn't stop, she is genuinely worried and you almost feel bad for not feeling bad at all. You don't know why you agreed to let her visit you, you parted on neutral ground and there were no promises of seeing each other in the future ever again, even if she happens to live just 80 miles from you.

Apparently, your best friends Kurt and Santana worry about your new self, and they have called her because they were desperate enough. It must be desperation because you don't understand why your friends would pick her to help you. The only history that binds you two together is that she used to grace you with her attention by throwing slushies on you. And though you've made up in your senior year, it hasn't progressed from there.

So you ask her again why she is here and she looks hurt because it's the only thing she's been talking about, but you haven't heard a word of it. She repeats it though, saying that you have changed a lot and that you are worrying Kurt and Santana. She doesn't get your question. So you ask her again.

Why are _you_ here?

And she finally understands you. And looks even more hurt by it. She doesn't speak for a long time and you already suspect what she's going to do. Only when she takes a deep breath and starts with the words, 'I'm so sorry for all the times I -', you cut her off because you don't want to hear it. Not because you don't forgive her, but because you just don't want to be reminded. You've heard a version of it from Santana, and even Kurt has felt obligated to earn your forgiveness by apologizing for every wrong thing he's done before he befriended you.

You want to save her the exhausting speech and save yourself some dignity, so you tell her that you're over it. But you make it clear that you still don't know why she of all people is here. And then she tells you something that you've suspected, but are still surprised to hear. She cares about you.

It's too bad, you think to yourself. Because you don't. But you don't tell her that. You fake a grateful smile and tell her you're alright, that Kurt and Santana are overreacting, that you are on a road of self-discovery and that a make over is natural when you begin anew in a big city. She isn't convinced, but you don't care and she doesn't probe.

So the rest of her stay in your shared apartment doesn't go above small-talk level. She laughs with Santana, she laughs with Kurt, but she smiles with you. One year ago, you would be wondering why she only smiles with you when she laughs with others.

But now you don't understand why she smiles with you at all. You don't provide her with good memories of high school, you don't force yourself to make jokes, you don't talk about anything remotely funny or entertaining. You don't even listen to her when she attempts to talk to you.

But she smiles anyway and you think that she's just being polite and trying to make up for her past self that resembles your present self. With the difference that you need sex to feel good about yourself while she prided herself on abstinence.

She confuses you, but you don't dwell on it. You've learned not to dwell on things that would most likely stir emotions in you. Like a true stoic, you strive for apathy and indifference. What doesn't bother you can't hurt you and what you don't desire can't affect you.

But when she leaves the day after and you feel relief opening up your lungs, you can't help but spare one second of thought on her.

* * *

_I've turned into a statue and it makes me feel depressed_

_Cause the only time you open up is when we get undressed_

You are rougher than usual, impatient, relentless and she notices it. She knows something is up, but doesn't address it. You thank her for it by giving her what she wants, fast and loveless. But still passionate and sensual every second. You are nothing but a perfectionist. You may not care about a lot of things, but you want her to remember that only you can give her pleasure the way she needs it. Because you know you're not the only one she invites to private lessons, and you want to make sure that you are the best she's ever had.

She never says it, but you just know that you are her favorite.

* * *

She comes back to visit only two weeks later. You wonder if she has to study at all. You heard she's going to Yale, so you assumed that she would be somewhat busy. But she says she's ahead of her homework schedule and you just believe her.

She tries to talk to you again, on a profound level. She tries, but you don't let her because you don't listen. Your eyes are on her mouth again and you think the exact same thoughts you had last time.

She keeps it going for five whole minutes until she gives up. She knows that you were only looking at her lips, but doesn't talk about it. You figure that it makes her uncomfortable and you find it strangely amusing.

You bluntly confront her with a proposition that makes her blush a dark shade of red, eyeing you in shock. You shrug when she doesn't answer. Her loss. You get up and tell her that you have better things to do, and she stands up as well, blocking your way. You tease her about considering your proposition, but she looks concerned. I care about you, she repeats and you blankly stare at her. She says more things, all along the lines of caring about you, but you don't listen. You're not willing to listen to anything what she has to tell you.

She had her chance of telling you all these things when you were younger, naive and foolish. When you needed someone to tell you all these things. Now it's too late. Now you don't need someone to care. All you need is control of yourself, control of the people around you. Because having people care about you gains you nothing, you need people to be under your control. Control gives you power and you will need power once you make it on Broadway. Feeling pity for you won't give you the good roles, but having the right connections.

So you wave her off and tell her to go bother Kurt or Santana. She looks hurt again and you still don't feel bad. But you do feel obligated to offer her a fake apologetic smile to take away the sting. You say that you have a lot going on at the time and that maybe next time she visits, you will welcome her with open arms. You hope there won't be a next time.

_I wanna erase every nasty thought that bugs me every day of every week_

But it's only another two weeks when she comes knocking on your door again. And it's so unfortunate that you can't even begin to describe the situation. It's unfortunate because your friends failed to tell you that she would be visiting, but it's even more unfortunate that a naked Cassie is lazily lying on your bed, raising her eyebrows at you when the knocks get urgent.

You groan and curse. You loudly tell her to go because you don't feel like talking, because talking is all she wants to do. But she's relentless, she keeps pounding on your door that you're afraid she might pound a hole in it.

Cassie's face turns sour. She doesn't like it when she is confronted with the idea of other lovers that you have. But the problem is, the girl knocking on your door isn't an affair of yours. But you don't tell her that, seeing as there is no need. She shouldn't care because you don't care about her affairs either.

You get off the bed and put on your underwear before you answer the door, making sure to block the view into your room. You're not sure why though. You don't care if she sees Cassie.

She's not naive. She knows what took you so long and her height advantage lets her peek over your head. You watch her closely. You watch her expression crumbling, watch her eyes getting dull and her mouth letting out a dejected _oh_.

This time, you actually feel bad. And you don't know why.

You ask her what she wants. The look she's giving you tugs at something inside of you. Is it your heart? No, it stopped beating long ago. But then what is it that is constricting so uncomfortably in your ribcage?

She apologizes for rudely knocking and tells you _nevermind_, turning on the spot and leaving again.

You slowly close the door. You can hear Cassie chuckling to herself. _Stupid girl._

No, she's not, you defend her before you can stop yourself.

Cassie narrows her eyes at you. You are not supposed to disagree with her, neither in nor outside her class. She tells you to crawl back to bed, her tone indicating the punishment you're about to get. And you willingly obey, because you want to punish yourself for feeling something.

* * *

_Got a hole inside of me_

_Living with identities that do not belong to me_

She doesn't visit for a month. Your friends blame you and want to hear the truth why she's not visiting as frequently as before. You tell them that she has a life of her own. College may be fun at times, but college is no pony ride. She's an honor roll student at Yale for a reason that does not consist of visiting friends every weekend.

They agree with you in the end and let you be. You have other things to worry about. One of them being Cassandra July.

The building aggression that she takes out on you has reached new heights. You take it all with an indifferent smile, not hearing the insults that she tosses at you in front of the whole class. Your peers admire you for keeping your cool, but they don't know what you know. Because by the end of the lesson, when you are alone with her, she makes it up to you in the most pleasurable ways.

But lately, you've been enjoying it less and less. And she's noticed. You don't respond to her anymore and she's getting frustrated. She tries it rougher and harder and rawer, it's feral and uninhibited, it's everything you would usually love. But it's not what you want right now.

You toy with the idea of quitting this arrangement if you're not getting any pleasure out of it anymore.

_You're never gonna love me so what's the use_

_What's the point of playing a game you're gonna lose_

You can't believe what you're doing right now. You're sitting on a train to New Haven. Cramped between two bulky men, you are on your way to the Yale campus. You sigh and close your eyes, focusing on the music that you're hearing.

_I haven't lived life_

_I haven't lived love_

_Just bird's eye view_

_From the sky above_

She wordlessly lets you in. And you are thankful for that, thankful that she doesn't make a scene.

She doesn't meet your eyes, but you are desperate to meet hers. You go against everything you believe in and start apologizing. You're not good in it, you stutter and stumble over your words, you mess up the structures and you forget basic grammar rules, sounding incohorent and stupid. It's not until she finally has mercy with your pitiful self and tells you to stop that you can breathe again.

She's not angry with you, you both know that she has no right to be, but she has a lot to say.

And you listen. You listen to every word she needs to get out, your mind doesn't wander. You notice how lovely her voice sounds, so soft and soothing. And you don't stop looking her in the eyes, counting every golden fleck in her hazel eyes, getting lost in them.

You like how she talks. She can express herself well, she's as much as eloquent as you used to be. And that's when you feel something squeezing your lungs. She reminds you of how you used to be.

She believes in you though you gave her no reason to, she wants to help you though you never asked for it, she wants to sort everything out by talking. It reminds her of you and your high school self, of how nobody seemed to appreciate what you were willing to do for them. You were never as important to them as they were to you. It almost killed you and you just tried to protect yourself, tried not to make the same mistakes by creating a new persona for yourself. It's worked perfectly fine until the day she decided to march back into your life.

She repeats how much she cares about you, and that's when you break. You ask her why. Why her, why now, why you.

And she confesses everything. You don't think you've heard her right, but she says that she's loved you for a long time. Loved you so much that it quickly turned into obsessive hate because she knew she couldn't act on her feelings. Trapped with a strict religious family and dependence on social status, she reached out to you the only way she knew how to.

You don't believe her. You tell her that she doesn't need to make up a story to make you feel better about yourself and your past. You like your lifestyle that you have going on now and you will only change it once you make it in on Broadway, when you don't need sex to make you feel alive anymore. When the roaring audience and the dazzling stage lights can replace that feeling of burning up and being drowned with bliss.

She looks at you like she doesn't know you. And you want to laugh, because she really doesn't. She actually has no idea of who you are, not even you know it anymore.

She doubts that you're truly happy with your current lifestyle. There's more than Broadway in your life.

You just sadly shake your head because she's wrong. She still doesn't get you. You don't expect her to ever understand you because you know yourself that your problem is a first-world problem. But it doesn't make you feel less depressed about it. It doesn't mean you have no right to be depressed.

You tell her that Broadway is everything to you. It's the only reason why you dance, why you sing, why you fight your way through college, why you bother to breathe at all. Without it, you would have no other goal. Without a goal, without knowing what to do with yourself, you would slowly lose grip on reality. Because if there's nothing to fight for, nothing that keeps you going, you lose yourself. You may joke about it, you may take it with sarcasm, but the hole inside of you is real.

She shakes her head and it makes you angry. What you are saying is true, you are not exaggerating. You tell her all the things you've never told anyone. You tell her how much you hate yourself because everyone has these noble dreams and then there's you, clinging onto an impossible dream to become a Broadway star. You know the slim chances yourself, you're not stupid, but you don't care because you need a drive in your life. You need to hold on to your dream because it's all you have, otherwise you would spend the days hating on society for being so materialistic and greedy.

She still looks at you like she can't see you. And that's when you can feel tears in your eyes.

_I wish_, you can hear yourself say with the voice of a stranger, _I wish I was good in math or physics or chemistry or anything science. Like, really good. Then I wouldn't have to worry about not finding a job. Then I wouldn't have to worry about being worthless. Because everyone loves the med or engineering student, because no one tells her that she's studying to end up homeless._

And when you look up, she finally sees you. And you see her. The sadness, the sorrow, the understanding. All at once, all too much.

You run.

_Is there more to lose than gain_

_If I go on my own again_

Cassie is hardly giving you any space to breathe. You want to be left alone for once. But she doesn't respect your wish, thinking you are pulling off a new trick to get her crazy. And it works, she fights hard for your attention. She wants you to be completely hers again.

It's when she goes one step too far and forbids you to have other lovers, that's when you know that she's crossed a line she's not supposed to ever come near to. You sneer at her for putting this restriction on you when she is having other affairs on the side as well.

But her lack of reaction wipes away the sneer on your face. She doesn't give you the satisfaction of looking weak, but you see it all too clear.

You have been her only lover for a long time.

_Well, baby I'm the one who left you_

_You're not the one who left me_

You end things with her right away. She doesn't accept it. But an affair takes two, so it's enough if you can resist her.

* * *

It hardly surprises you when she's standing in your room one week later. You greet her like nothing has happened between you. You haven't forgotten what she has told you, but you choose to ignore it. Because it can't be true.

So you lie in your bed and don't look up from your phone.

She clears her throat and starts with an apology. You roll your eyes because you are tired of hearing apologies over and over again. But you listen to her anyway. You listen because you care about what she has to say.

She asks you if you still sleep with your dance teacher. She sounds strained. Like she doesn't want to know the answer but needs to know for her own sake.

You consider not answering her at all because it's none of her business. But you shake your head anyway.

Really? She sounds hopeful. She sounds relieved. She sounds like someone who has an interest in you and doesn't want to compete with others.

You put away your phone and sit up straight. Really, you nod.

She fidgets with her hands. Maybe, she starts, would you...

You don't urge her on. You just patiently wait. You have all the time in the world.

She looks unsure and stops herself.

You get up from your bed and slowly close in on her. She looks lost and gazes at you in search of something. Does she look for a heart in you? Do you still have it?

Well, it must still exist, or otherwise you wouldn't be breathing right now.

A soft hand grazes your cheek. You're not wearing make-up you realize and she does, too. She says it out loud and you hum. You say you didn't feel like putting make-up on this morning. You didn't plan on seeing anyone.

She cups your cheek and you lean into the touch. You don't know what she's doing, but you let it happen because it feels good.

_So beautiful, _she whispers and for one second, you are unsure what she's talking about. You? Is she talking about you? But you aren't beautiful. It's your make-up and your clothes that make you desirable, that make you sexy and stunning, but you – you don't feel beautiful without all of those things.

No, she's the one who's truly beautiful. And you tell her that. You tell her how unpretty you feel. But she shakes her hand and her thumb is gently brushing your cheek.

She tells you that you are amazing and that you have an amazing life ahead of you, despite what people are saying. She believes in you and thinks you will make it on Broadway, she is so sure that you will be proving everyone wrong. She says a lot and you listen to every word. Because you start to believe her the same way she has always believed in you.

_So will you go out with me? _

Your eyes wander to her lips. But this time, instead of wondering and fantasizing, you kiss her. You have to hold yourself back because you've forgotten how to share a tender kiss, only knowing the rough and bruising kind. But she guides you, she shows you home, shows you warmth. She teaches you how to feel again.

_Yes, _you breathlessly pant against her mouth, _I would love to, Quinn._


End file.
